Clark
by mickeyrourkescigarettes
Summary: After five years of friendship, Clark Kent finally decides to profess his love for Lois Lane. They begin a relationship. Over time they grow closer and Lois is shocked when Clark reveals his true identity. But what she doesn't know is that Clark has been hiding more than just the fact that he is Superman.


This is a Superman fanfiction about Clark and Lois, who I would like you to envision being Henry Cavill and Amy Adams. It contains very strong depictions of sadomasochism and sexual content. Hope you like it.

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I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I couldn't do anything but feel. And what did I feel? Love, lust, and eventually pain. It was as though he were three people instead of just one. Clark, my best friend. Superman, my obsession. And a sadist who hid beneath both of them. I loved all three of them unconditionally and without question. Clark was the first that I fell in love with. With his thick framed glasses and his suits and his clumsy nature, he swept me off my feet and became the man I had been searching for. He was an excellent lover and I was surprised, to say the least. We experimented with various things such as him blindfolding me or tying my hands together and I enjoyed them, he seemed to enjoy them as well. Superman was second. When he revealed who he truly was to me I was in disbelief and upset with him for not telling me sooner. After being friends for more than five years and dating for nearly six months, I felt somewhat betrayed by the fact that he had kept it a secret from me for so long. He apologized continuously and begged me not to be upset with him. I soon got over it. And then came the sadist. It seemed like the further in love I fell with him the stranger he became. At first it was only small things, such as him getting angry over me calling him out over small things or yelling at me when I didn't listen to something he asked me to do. This turned into him dragging me out of public events if I said something he didn't like and being backhanded across the face when I didn't listen to him. I hated it so much that I would storm out of the apartment we shared, it didn't matter what time of day or night it was, I would leave in a rage and walk the streets. Each time I returned he would apologize, then take me into the bedroom and make love to me. Our lovemaking began to take a detour into a territory that I was unfamiliar with in every single way. The blindfolding and tying together of my hands turned into him chaining and handcuffing me to the bed and making me do things I told him I was uncomfortable with, such as crawling and touching myself while he watched. When he bought the riding crop I didn't understand what he intended to do with it until we went to bed and he showed me what he was going to do. He eased me into having it incorporated into our love life the same way he did with handcuffing and chaining me to the bed and after some time I began to like it. And then the yelling and slapping of my face when he was angry turned into him taking his belt off and threatening to beat me. He did eventually, I fought against him as he chained me to the head of our shower and began to hit me. I told myself I had to leave him, no man had ever hit or struck me. But this wasn't just any man... it was Clark. Kind, sweet, and gentle Clark Kent. It came to a point where if I refused to do anything he said he would beat me with his belt until I gave in and did what he wanted. After each use of the riding crop or the belt or sometimes both we would lay in bed in silence, his arms held me close and wrapped me in a strong hug while his mouth kissed my hair and whispered that he loved me in my ear. The sound of police sirens or gunshots would send him out of our sixth story window and into the night, sometimes I would wake from a deep sleep to him kissing my forehead and other times these sounds would come while we were both awake and talking quietly to each other in the darkness. I could never sleep when he was out, some nights I stayed up until he returned in the early morning hours, every time that I did it he would become upset and scold me. We went to work together each day, taking the subway to the _Daily Planet_ and taking it back home after work. No one knew how strange he was except for me, this thought excited me when we were in meetings and at parties with our friends and colleagues, the fact that I was the only one who knew how complex, "the world's oldest boy scout," really was. Since we made love every single day, most times until I was physically unable to do it anymore, and since he harmed me in some way before hand, I began to get used to this, and in turn I began to get aroused by it. I dissected my feelings the same way I dissected a story for the _Planet_. The arousal came from the association of my pain with the pleasure he gave me afterward, whether it came a minute or an hour from when I felt the sting of the riding crop or the leather of his belt I was still aroused. Even when I begged and pleaded with him to stop through sobs there was still a deep aching in my stomach that made me want him. The excitement that I saw on his face and in his eyes excited me just as much. Each time I gave in to him and allowed him to hurt me we became closer physically, mentally, and emotionally. We loved each other, but the more our relationship progressed the more he wanted out of me, even when I had given all that I could he wanted more, and he did whatever he could to get it out of me.


End file.
